


I don't want to hear you say it shouldn't really be this way (because I like this way just fine)

by ohmcgee



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: F/M, LEAVE ME ALONE WITH MY TRASH, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, TRAAAASHHHHHHHHHH, dance porn, girl!Jay, trash.jpg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 10:25:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4259832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's her party and she'll dance if she wants to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I don't want to hear you say it shouldn't really be this way (because I like this way just fine)

It's her party and she'll dance if she wants to. That's what Jay says when she tugs Bruce out of his chair after all the guests have gone, pink frosting still smeared in the corner of her mouth where Dick shoved a piece of birthday cake in her face. Bruce remember the strange pull in the center of his chest when Dick held on too long, buried his hand in her loose curls and pressed his lips to her forehead, murmured something no one else but them could hear. 

He feels better now, just the two of them, Jay kicking her heels off and stepping on Bruce's toes when he twirls her around and around. The dress she'd picked out is deep red and it makes Bruce think about blood on her mouth when some creep catches her unaware, makes him think of the lipstick she smears on in the batmobile, the little kissy face she makes at him when she's done. 

The radio in the corner is still blaring awful pop songs that Bruce doesn't recognize, but Jay squeals when one of them comes on, lets go of Bruce's hand and spins around.

"I love this song," she grins and gets her hands in her hair, shaking it out, and Bruce brings his scotch to his lips when she starts dancing, swaying her hips back and forth and rolling her body like no sixteen year old should know how to do.

"Come on, dance with me," she says and takes Bruce's drink out of his hand, sets it on the mantle, then slides up next to him, stands on her tip-toes and whispers in his ear, "You do know how to dance, don't you, B?"

"Hm," is all Bruce's says when Jay spins around, presses her back up against his chest and leans her head back on his shoulder, still swaying her hips, grinding back against him like they're in one of the clubs Bruce has busted up on more than one occasion. “Jay, this isn’t --”

“B,” Jay says and Bruce bites down on his tongue when her tight ass rubs against him through his slacks, his dick more than halfway hard already from the way she’s been moving against him. “It’s my _birthday._ Dance with me.”

“Jay --”

“Please?”

And she knows, she _knows_ what that does to him, knows that Bruce can’t tell her no, not to anything, and just like that his hands fall to her hips, guiding her, moving his own hips against her in time to the music like he’s not pushing forty, too old to be doing this for so many reasons.

“Yeah,” Jay says, a little breathy. “Like that. Now --”

Then she takes one of Bruce’s hands and starts moving it from her hip up her belly, up to right under the swell of her breast. 

“Jay,” Bruce breathes out against her neck. “No.”

“My birthday,” Jay sing-songs, leaning back against him, and then Bruce is sliding his hand up on his own, cupping her breast and a soft little sigh escapes her lips when she squeezes her there. 

After there it’s all downhill, just like Bruce knew it would be. He’s held off on this for -- well years if he’s being truly honest with himself, shown more discipline in keeping his hands off Jay than he has with stopping himself from killing the villains that threaten his city each night. And now that he’s started, now that’s he’s broken down that boundary, it’s like opening the floodgates. 

Bruce lifts his other hand and brushes the curls from her neck, dips his head and puts his mouth there, tastes the salt on her skin, the chemicals of the perfume she dabs behind her ears.

“Finally,” Jay breathes out and squeezes Bruce’s hand around her tit, grinds her ass against him. “God, I can feel you.”

“That’s what you do to me,” Bruce growls against her neck, pulls the strap of her dress down and cups her breast in his hand, memorizes the soft moan she makes for him. “What you’ve always done to me.”

“God, I hate you,” Jay laughs. “You could have,” she says. “Anytime. I’ve wanted you so fucking --”

“Watch your mouth,” Bruce hums against her skin.

“So damn bad,” Jay finishes, taking Bruce’s hand and moving it down to her thighs, scrambling to inch her dress up. “Touch me, _please._ ”

“Jay,” Bruce says, hesitantly. “Are you sure?”

“If you don’t,” Jay says, moving her hand between her thighs. “I will.”

“Christ,” Bruce breathes against her, pushes her hand out of the way and pulls her dress up to her waist. “Where,” he growls into her hair. “Are your underwear?’

Jay giggles, grinds back against him. “Probably still in the drawer up -- _oh_ ,” she gasps when Bruce slides his finger into her. 

“God,” Bruce says, somewhere between awe and worship. “Are you always this --”

“Wet?” Jay says, her voice low and husky, one arm thrown back around Bruce’s head as she moves against him. “Only when I’m around you.”

“Jesus,” Bruce whispers, turns Jay’s face toward him with his free hand and kisses her. It’s not the first time -- there were a few ill advised, post-patrol moments where he let his guard down, let Jay press up against him and press her mouth to his, grinning and tasting like someone else’s blood. This is different. This is Bruce taking charge, squeezing her chin between his thumb and forefinger and licking into her mouth while he fucks his fingers into her, swallows down the little moans and whimpers she makes for him when he thumbs over her clit, his fingers dripping with her juices. 

“God,” she gasps. “ _Bruce._ ” 

And that -- that does something to him he can’t even begin to explain. Usually she just calls him B or Bossman, sometimes Big Guy, Batman when she’s wearing the little green panties she really is too old to be wearing anymore. Never Bruce.

“Since it’s my birthday,” she pants, reaching up to touch the stubble lining his jaw, slide her fingers across his mouth. “Put your mouth on me?”

Bruce’s knees buckle almost immediately at the thought of it. “ _Jay_ ,” he says, then grabs her hips and turns her around, drops down to his knees and pushes her dress up to her belly, buries his face in the wet, warm slickness between her legs, laps at her until her thighs tremble and she clenches his hair in her hands. 

“Right -- oh _god_ ,” she gasps and pushes his face against her and Bruce has to hold her up when she comes, shaking apart in his arm and cursing up a storm. Bruce drinks her down, tongues her through it all until she begs him to stop, pushes him onto his back and climbs on top of him, grinds her wet pussy against his cock over his clothes until Bruce squeezes her thighs and comes in his pants like some kind of adolescent, like someone her age that she should probably be doing this with instead. 

Jay just giggles when she rolls off of him, pulls her dress down, then grabs his scotch off the mantle and steals a sip. 

“Jay,” he says warningly and she raises her eyebrows at him as she takes another sip. 

“Right,” he says, sighing. He figures she pretty much has free reign now. “It’s your birthday.”


End file.
